


an illusion of infinity

by stellatiate



Series: because it hurts [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Consensual Infidelity, F/M, Infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 04:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellatiate/pseuds/stellatiate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>she has her duties, though she may choose not to follow through. not safe for work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	an illusion of infinity

**Author's Note:**

> this is cross-posted onto my tumblr as a part of an otp challenge.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?”

Something floods relief within her when she spins around to the sight of the Fire Lord standing in the doorway, his fist resting against the open door. Katara doesn’t always recognize him because he looks so much older—not with the weight of exhaustion, but with the wisdom of maturity—and the elegance of his clothing in combination with his spine-straight posture and sharp features give him all of the distinction of a respectable, foreign leader.

But she remembers the days rife with nervousness and fearful, sleepless nights as clear as cloudless skies. In those days before things changed so monumentally, she spent so many nights huddled around a dancing fire, breathing life into the idea of a Fire Nation under peaceful rule. She remembers all of the promises she’d made to help, to give Zuko a rightful thump on the head if he needed it (and nothing of killing, nothing of ripping her friend’s life out of his hands just as he had learned to wield it for the better).

Everything had been so limitless, then.

Zuko crosses the room before she notices, standing before her with his hands held aloft at his sides. He is a sight for sore eyes with a private smile made just for her.

“It’s really nice to see you,” she says on the tips of her toes before she wraps her arms around his neck, and she means it. When his arms fall slack around her waist, she suspects that maybe there is a newfound distance between them, but then he ducks his head down into the crook of her neck and squeezes her with a force that spills affection through her skin.

He pulls away, and Katara feels cold.

“I should show you around.” She cups her palms against her bare forearms, tilts her head to the side to shift her curls away from her eyes, and then peeks back at him. “That is my duty here, after all.”

Even her tongue curls from the bitterness of her own voice. Zuko’s eyebrow arches into his hairline, but Katara steps around him and moves to leave the room. Everything about it is stifling, from the high ceiling and its skylight to the sunset orange and pale yellow painted all over the décor. Aang’s voice in her head stifles her most, the happiness in his face and the hopefulness in his eyes, and the way he longed for her to accept without question.

She used to be jealous that he could maintain such peace, but she knows now it is at the cost of freedom.

“Katara,” and his hands are anchors on her shoulders, his voice a sea-song in her ear, “you have no duty to anyone but yourself.”

His voice is so different, because she remembers when it was a sultry whisper down her spine, with her hands wrapped around the frame of his desk. But she can feel the sadness in his tone somewhere deep in the pit of her stomach, and it causes her to long for something entirely out of her reach. (They have always been out of each other’s reach.)

She steps forward, a lunge that brings his palms sliding from their perch, and then swivels around to stare at him. He looks young for a moment, with a lifetime of melancholia trapped in his eyes. Katara steps closer and closer with half of a response on her lips before she kisses him.

These kisses are so less invasive, hard won for each moment she gives them and so much more worthy for the patience that lies in the space between them. Zuko has always been surprisingly gentle, a subtle intensity that flares bright with passion, with careful fire in hands too scared to burn.

“Let me show you around,” she whispers, leaning against the side of the desk, holding her hand out towards him. His hand is warm and rough against her smaller ones, but she pulls him close to her and kisses him again.

Zuko is sparing, yet attentive with his kisses, tilting her back until she is sprawled across the surface of the desk and his hands are at her side. It is glaringly different than their last intimate meeting, oceans away and less emotion.

It is different, and Katara doesn’t mind it at all. His hands are gentle when they pry her legs apart, and he stands between her thighs with a confidence all his own, and her body responds to him in kind, and something snaps in frustration because there will always be this part of her that will open up to him, no matter how long, no matter what happens.

He runs his fingers in jagged lines against her thighs, pushing her skirts back around her hips. “You were made for an infinity of different things,” he leans down to bump his forehead against hers, to kiss her chastely, “and none of them are fulfilling his _duties_.”

His words are more than enough but her body aches for the rest of him, agonizingly slow until he pushes their hips closer, grinds the heat of their arousal together, and Katara is ready to fall apart in that moment, before they have really come close.

“Just do it,” she mumbles, scratching her nails against his waist, twisting her head against the surface of the barren desk, and moans in satisfaction when he obliges her.

Her body curves uncomfortable against the sturdy desk, but Zuko is slow and gentle with his movements, reverent hands roaming over the clothed shape of her body, and for a moment, it doesn’t matter that there is an element of detachment between them.

But Zuko is the one who clasps the small of her back and pulls her forward, her hands pillowed against the front of his tunic, his eyes stirring warmth underneath her skin. Katara will never really get over the way he looks at her, and more than anything else, that is what reminds her of the truth.

There are many things she was made for, and one of them was most certainly _this_.


End file.
